


Get It? (5 Times Foggy Doesn't; 1 Time Foggy Does)

by blackmetaldahlia



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: 5 Times, 5+1 Things, Getting Together, Law School, M/M, lawrence v texas, the matrix: revolutions spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-29 17:24:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12089787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackmetaldahlia/pseuds/blackmetaldahlia
Summary: Law school is confusing, and Foggy doesn't, you know, "get" a lot of it. One of the things he doesn't get? How the hell his roommate is single.





	Get It? (5 Times Foggy Doesn't; 1 Time Foggy Does)

**Author's Note:**

> The only reason I'm in law school now is so that I can write more accurate Matt/Foggy fic. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

 “I don’t get it,” Foggy moans. “Why cold calls? Why don’t they give us an option – today you can either be called on in class, or we’ll shove a bamboo shoot under one of your fingernails.”

“You did fine,” Matt reassures him through a mouthful of pastrami. “Harold in property managed to ramble about bailments and parking garages for almost twenty minutes last week. Eat your sandwich.”

“I’m never eating again. I’m going on hunger strike until cold calling is ruled cruel and unusual punishment, and thus unconstitutional.”

“The Supreme Court isn’t even in session yet, it’s September. You probably wouldn’t get an opinion till April. By then you’ll be over the cold-calling butterflies. Eat your sandwich, or I will.”

Foggy moans dramatically, tossing his hair back and letting his tongue roll out of his mouth. “You can’t see it, but I’m crossing my eyes because I’m dead, the humiliation killed me, it’s second degree murder because cold-calling is a felony now, I just made it a felony.”

Matt swallows the last of his sandwich in one go, and then pats the table until he hits Foggy’s, which he pulls towards him and begins disassembling, removing the pickles with surgical precision. “Is it a felony with a substantial risk of harm to human life?”

“I thought that was just California?”

Matt shrugs and takes a bite out of Foggy’s depickled sandwich. “I think it’s California and New York. I know California is closest to the common law, though.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Foggy mutters. 

 

\---

 

“I don’t get it,” Foggy announces, leaning back in his chair so that the front legs leave the ground, and the back legs release an ominous creak. “Why not just accept the broader interpretation? The second restatement literally says ‘a contract is invalid if it lacks consideration, unless it was acted on in reliance, or comes from moral obligation,’ and like, I’m certain there are more exceptions. Why not just say that consideration can be a bargain, but all that other stuff, too?”

 Matt shrugs, one hand on the cassette player he’d gotten off eBay for five bucks, the other rapidly typing. “I feel like it should just be a flow chart. Was there a promise made? Yes. Okay, was it bargained for? No. Okay, was there reliance satisfying the foreseeability and actionability and injustice stuff? Like that, except codified.”

“Yeah, but then anyone would be able to interpret law, you wouldn’t have to go through three years of hazing just to get to an even worse hazing ritual, and then drink yourself into a coma while waiting to find out if you can even practice law. Plus, I thought we were still in common law?”

“We tried to codify common criminal law, why not contract law?” Matt’s typing. Foggy leans over to read his notes.

“Are you seriously briefing that awful House of Lords case? I couldn’t make sense of it at all. No wonder America revolted.”

“They upheld Beer’s claim because Foakes already had an obligation to pay back the debt with interest. They were super cagey about upholding it, because it was a totally dick move on her part, which is why there’s that newish rule about how consideration for the old promise is still valid, but both the promissor and promisee are bound only by the terms of the new promise.” Matt sniffs, and hits pause. “I don’t know, I kind of liked that one. It felt like a radio show.”

Foggy grimaces at the cassette player, switch turned up to double speed. “That makes sense, I guess. I still feel like you’re getting screwed with the audiobooks, though.”

Matt sighs. “You’re not wrong. I can read way faster in braille. But you’ve seen my bible, can you imagine the case books? At least I can harass disability services into printing out law review notes in braille.” Matt’s bible – though the singular seems like a misnomer, given that it’s 18 books – takes up the entire top level of his desk hutch. “Plus, the books on tape were free.”

“That’s something, at least,” Foggy says, though he keeps frowning. “You look like you’re wired into The Matrix. Wait, did you see – “

“Yep, one of the last movies I ever saw. Blinded in 2000. Is it the wires?”

One earbud is snaking from the cassette player, the other from Matt’s old Thinkpad. Matt had explained that he used the text-to-speech on the computer to check for typos, while his casebooks were on cassette, but Foggy still thinks it looks ridiculous. “Yeah. I’m gonna make you pop a DayQuil and then dramatically yank all your wires out and push you down a waterslide. Watch out, Wachowskis, here we come. Hey, did you know that Neo was blinded in the last one?”

 “What last one?”

 “The one that came out – “

 “ _What_ last one?”

 “There was _Revolutions_ , and then _Reloaded_ – “

 “Foggy, there’s only one Matrix movie.” Matt says, as though Foggy's an idiot, and Foggy catches on.

 “Ah, right, of course. I’m certain that had they continued the series, they probably would have done a terrible job, absolutely horrible.”

 “Horrendous. Unwatchable, and I don’t say that lightly,” Matt agrees, solemnly. Foggy huffs out a laugh, and leans his chair back fully onto the ground.

 “Seriously, though, if you ever don’t feel like dealing with it, you can use my briefs.”

 

\---

 

“I don’t get it,” Foggy says softly. “He’s never all _‘Oh, stare decisis is so important’_ the rest of the time. Like, gays get rights, and suddenly it’s a huge deal?”

 “Lawrence versus Texas?” Matt asks. He’s stretched out on their twenty dollar Target carpet, wired in to his cassette player and computer. A few small stacks of printed out articles with stripes in scented marker litter the ground around him. He’s been working on their first open memo for the past six hours straight.

 “Yeah. Like Scalia’s a douchebag, we get it.”

 “But remember, he has _nothing against homosexuals, or any other group, promoting their agenda_ ,” Matt snorts derisively. “It’s because of Sandra Day O’Connor’s stare decisis defense in all of the cases challenging Roe.  And also because he’s a disgusting little maggot of a man.”

“It’s extra frustrating because, like, I do get it, I think? Like yes, the court shouldn’t be able to make legislative decisions like this. It is the sort of thing that should be decided by states. But…” he trails off, uncertain of how to phrase what exactly makes him so uncomfortable. Matt pulls his earbuds out.

“But he basically says that it’s almost certain that the state will rule to repeal criminalization of homosexual sodomy and oral sex, and soon, but the Court should still uphold it for now? He’s basically telling these men that ‘yes, what you’ve done isn’t really a crime, but you should still be punished for it right now because your state’s legislature is slow-moving?’”

“Yeah.” Foggy lets out a long, exasperated sigh. “It’s not an enviable position, but I can’t see throwing a huge tantrum the way he does.”

“I liked the part about how gay-friendly the law profession is. Like OUTLaw hasn’t had a hard time booking their events for the past decade, and the butchest lesbians we know are still forced into skirtsuits for OCIs. What a miserable troll.”

Foggy glances down, just a little bit surprised. “I honestly didn’t expect you to get so fired up about this. About him.”

Matt frowns. “I’m Catholic, not the Pope. Besides, it’s blatant hypocrisy. He becomes Mr. Prescriptivism the moment he steps into the courtroom, without taking into account how little our laws are vetted. You know, they approved a law a while back with a phone number copy-pasted right in the middle of a statute?”

“I can believe it.”

“Humans…make mistakes,” Matt says in an almost pleading tone. “Taking such a hard line is...evil, in situations like this. I don’t know. Like you said, not an enviable position, but going off the way he does is just…cruel.”

“Mmm,” Foggy agrees. It’s silent for a little while, and Matt pops his earbuds back in and gets back to work.

 

\---

  
“I don’t get it,” Foggy grunts, as he fumbles with the doorknob. “Will people actually notice if you italicize a comma?”

“I wouldn’t,” Matt says flatly, and gestures Foggy aside as he loops his cane around his wrist and digs out his own key. Foggy snorts. “I’m honestly not sure if I’m even going to do write-on. They want people who can Bluebook like they were born to it, but even disability services fucks up braille italics half the time, and it’s not something I can check with my current screenreader.”

“Braille has italics?” Foggy asks. Matt opens the door without any issue and nods, leading the way into their cramped room. “That’s badass. And dude, if you want to do write-on, do write-on. I can double-check that part of formatting, if you’re worried they’d DQ you we can ask one of those 3L nerds, I can’t imagine they’d be that mean. Like, there’s no way in hell I’m doing write-on, so it’s not like it benefits me.”

“Why wouldn’t you? Foggy, your writing voice is great, why not give it a shot?”

“My writing _voice_ is great because it’s conversational, which is so novel to the professors here that they forget to dock points for it. I made a Sonic the Hedgehog reference in my last memo, there’s no way I’m going to get on the fucking Columbia Law Review.” He sets the grocery bags down on the counter and begins to tear in, looking for the beef jerky that was buy-one-get-one. Matt looks like he wants to argue, but doesn’t have an argument formed yet, so Foggy takes advantage of that incredibly rare opportunity. “I’m perfectly happy trying out for moot court or mock trial like all the other ex-theater kids.”

Matt sighs. “What do you mean _ex_ -theater kid? You were singing Hello Dolly in your sleep last week.”

“Was not.”

 “Was too. And there’s other journals, not just Law Review. Isn’t there a journal of law and art or something?”

 “They probably focus on intellectual property. I’m not that much of a square.”

 Matt mutters something, followed by “toss me the pineapple rings.”

 Foggy digs through for the tiny bag of overpriced dried pineapple. “Only if you tell me what the first part of that was.”

 “You’re a theater kid _and_ a square.”

“Pfft,” Foggy huffs, and then tosses the pineapple directly at Matt’s chest. It hits, and then bounces into his arms. “ _You’re_ the one who’s gonna get on law review, you square.”

 

\---

 

“I don’t get it,” Foggy says, running through his sparse collection of heavily-discounted department store ties. “We get through high school and undergrad, we get to professional school, and they decide we need to have another prom?”

 “It’s not prom,” Matt says, with a ridiculously goofy smile. “It’s the _Barrister’s Ball_.” He adopts a ridiculously posh affect for the alliterative event name.

 “Ah yes, of course, silly me, the _Barrister’s Ball_.” Foggy’s posh sounds a bit more cockney. “Pick one of these. Just say left or right.”

 “Right,” Matt says, and Foggy drops the one in his left hand. “What color is it?”

 “Green. It goes with my eyes. Anyways, you seem chipper. I thought you were going stag, with the rest of us proles?”

 “I am,” Matt says. “I didn’t get a high school prom, I have no dreadful memories associated with the concept of school-sponsored dances. Plus, I have a pretty good excuse if I don’t look good.”

“You look _great_ ,” Foggy says, injecting his tone with a hearty amount of false bitterness. “And I don’t know whether to congratulate you or apologize – you know I still had braces for senior prom in high school? And my hair was down to my ass? Homer Sedgewick took bets with the entire football team on whether or not I’d wear a dress.”

“Did you?” Matt asks, eyebrows peeking over the top of his glasses.

“It was a kilt,” Foggy says, rolling his eyes. “I rolled my eyes.”

“I thought your family was Norwegian?”

“My mom wouldn’t let me go in full Viking getup, and yes, I did ask.”

“Why not take the opportunity now? We all could have gone, rented a longboat for the night, you know? Do some pillaging? Some night-time arson?”

“It’s gotta be daytime arson, Murdock, otherwise it’s illegal. Also, shut up, you know you like rocking the tux.”

Matt pouts, it’s adorable. “I already feel like I’m playing dress-up. I’d rather be playing as something fun, like a viking, rather than an investment banker.”

“Once we pass the bar, we can go to a renaissance fair in full Viking getup, get absolutely shitfaced, and then hang our shingle. We’ll live our dreams once we’re done with this hell. Deal?”

“Deal.”

 

\---

 

“I don’t get it,” Foggy says out of nowhere. “You’re like, ridiculously hot, you know that, right?”

 “I – yes? I think?”

 “And you’re smart, and funny, and charming, right?”

 “I _really_ don’t know where you’re going with this. Aren’t we consolidating our crim outlines?”

 “Oh my god, Matt,” Foggy groans and rolls over, starfishing on the floor, mindful of Matt’s stacks of journal articles. “We’ve been outlining since the first stars were made and dinosaurs still walked the earth.”

 “Those definitely aren’t contemporaneous – “

 “You use words like _contemporaneous_ in casual conversation! Just admit that you’re smart and funny and charming and hot!”

 “Are you having a mental breakdown? Student services warned us about this. I think you need to take a nap. How’s your caffeine consumption?”

 “Only two pots today, you narc.” Foggy sniffs. “Why are you single?”

 Matt is silent for a very long time, and Foggy lifts his head to see what his face is doing. Mostly looking confused, and adorable. Finally, he opens his mouth. “I don’t know how you want me to answer that.”

 “I – it’s not about how I want you to answer, it’s about _the_ answer. Life’s greatest mystery. Ridiculously hot and funny and smart and charming and kind, _and_ single? I know it’s not for lack of offers. And yes, I may be having a mental breakdown, but it’s minor and I’ll be over it in like two hours. Maybe sooner if you solve the mystery for me.”

 “Uh,” Matt says. “Hmm. Come here.”

 Foggy rolls back up onto his knees and scoots so that he’s directly in front of Matt, who checks his temperature. “I’m not sick, I’m just crazy because I can’t believe that you don’t, like, have a high school sweetheart squirrelled away that you’ll propose to the moment you pass the bar because you both wanted to wait until your respective careers were stabilized. I bet she’s getting her MBA or something.”

 “No, not an MBA,” Matt says absently. “Okay, are you genuinely having a mental breakdown, because I’d feel like an asshole if I just let you spiral.”

 “Oh my god, Matt, no, I just need to do something other than study, we’ve been studying since we were born, I’m pretty sure I astral projected into the library while I was asleep last night, I’m as sane as I’ve ever been.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, now tell me about your secret beau.”

Matt leans forward and kisses him, and Foggy’s heart pounds out of his chest. “You’re an idiot,” Matt mutters against his lips as he draws back, but Foggy’s following him now, actually kissing back, and Matt smiles and threads his hand into Foggy’s hair.

“Do you get it?” Matt asks, several too-long-but-somehow-too-short moments later, when Foggy’s regained some sense of equilibrium and Matt’s cheeks are bright pink.

“Yeah,” Foggy says. “I get it.”

**Author's Note:**

> The last one is a joke, nobody has time to start a relationship in 1L, also I'm dying.


End file.
